The Story Of The Time I Got Poison Ivy As An Adult
If you haven't cottoned on to it yet, I'm not what you'd call an "outdoor" person.There are all kinds of reasons why I'm not. I don't like the heat in the summertime, I don't like the crazy cold in the wintertime, I don't like humidity, I don't like bugs, I don't like encountering non domesticated animals, I don't like the sun, etc etc etc. I prefer to just stay at home and read or watch YouTube videos. On my couch. Indoors. Temperature controlled. Protected from bugs and snakes that want to eat me alive. With Husbando and my cat. Simple enough, right?
Well, wrong. Settle in for the story of the time I was again encouraged to never step outside, because Mother Nature is gunning for me. It's like there are just certain people who were made for the indoor life, and I am one of them. Mother Nature no longer has to remind me. It was a few years ago. I had decided to do some weeding around the house. No big deal. I had my gardening gloves, so my precious little stumps of fingers would be fine. HOWEVER.
I did not make it far into the Girl Scouts. Heck, I didn't make it out of the BROWNIES before I dropped out. Third grade was a rough year, ya'll. So I didn't grow up learning about the differences between plants or whatever. They teach you that kind of stuff in scouting, I think. Anyway, I was wearing shorts that day and did not realize that I had, in fact, managed to pull out some Poison Ivy from the side of my tree. It must have brushed against my leg as I was working on it. Just a slight brush of contact, which would make me miserable for the foreseeable, endless future.
An experience like this is something you're supposed to have as a kid. Or if you're like, a landscaping person who's seen it so many times it doesn't even affect you anymore. You're supposed to get Chicken Pox, break a bone, get stung by a bee, and all that stuff as a kid. As an adult, you're supposed to know better. Not this idiot. I had no idea what I'd touched, and was blissfully unaware until about....an hour or so later.
Keep in mind, I did not shower immediately after going inside. I just thought, "Oh, my leg's a little itchy." Then it got itchier. Then it got to the point that Husbando was telling me to stop scratching my dang leg, because it wasn't going to do anything. Of course, he'd been in the scouts. Eagle Scout. But he wasn't out with me when I was weeding, he was in another part of the yard. He knew what it looked like after the fact, sure.
SURE, now that I'm slowly going insane from the need to scratch my leg until I somehow manage to whittle it down to a stump. It took a couple of days, but I got the appropriate medicine and bandages. That didn't stop the infernal itching, however. And again, an actual adult would know, "Hey, don't scratch that, you could spread it, or you could just make it worse". Again, not this idiot. It's some kind of problem I have with impulse control, I guess.
So what probably should have been a rough week turned into about a month of constant itchy misery. Since it was on my shin, it meant if I was at work, I'd have to bandage it all day (pants) and could only let it "air" at home. Which would mean I'd have to constantly stop myself from touching it, scratching it, like a constant little ticking in my head.
Scratch it. It itches.
NO. I can't, it needs to heal.
Scratch it. It still itches.
No, come on, grow up.
You get it. These are not the thoughts of a highly functioning adult. It was almost more a mental problem than it was a physical one. Something about my mind and my impulse control probably needs professional help.
Day after agonising day, creams, bandages, special little pillows to prop my leg up, the works. Then, after a while, Husbando looked at me and said, "Hey, it looks better!" And it did. What had been red, inflamed, and frankly, gross was getting better bit by bit. A light at the end of the tunnel!
So what have I learned from all this? Probably nothing. I look at the little spot next to the tree from time to time. I see something growing there. But I'm not going to touch that with a ten foot pole. I'm probably going to apply weed killer by using a ten foot pole. Unless that angers it. I don't want it angry.